Suono di Musica
by darkrisingphoenix
Summary: [AU, slight TezuFuji] At the age of nine, Fuji Syuusuke was declared a genius.


**Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi, and I make no form of compensation for this work.**

Written for Subrosa Tennis on Livejournal.

---

It was autumn that day, the cold November wind nipping at his pale cheeks and turning them a rosy red. The knitted hat did little to help keep him warm, but the woolen coat helped him feel warm and toasty and kept him humming the same tune that he knew by heart. When the wave of heated air hit his exposed face, he smiled and took his hands out of his pockets before rubbing at his pink cheeks. He could stay here for a few more minutes—just until his hands warmed completely.

---

At the age of ten, Fuji Syuusuke took one of the many worlds on Earth by surprise. At the age of thirteen, he was playing with adults and matching their skill. By the time he was fourteen, he had won countless contests and bested many whom had been playing longer than he had. Now, at the age of twenty-two, he was one of the most well known people in the world, appearing on television all over the globe, charming many females and quite a few males.

At the age of seven, he had been declared a failure at the violin, piano, and flute. By the age of eight, he had been declared a failure at basketball, softball, and countless other things. Even the game of _checkers_ evaded his abilities, one of his teachers would lament to his mother as he stacked blocks into merry shapes and strange color patterns. Fuji was a bright child, but bored easily and distracted by the tiniest things, even if it was a stray thread on his teacher's shirt.

He had taken to stacking the checker pieces in alternating colors while his opponent tried to explain it to him. When they began playing, Fuji wouldn't know the rules, and would leap straight over three or four pieces just to be able to say, "King me," even if it was on the wrong colored square. Then he would take one of his opponent's pieces and place it on top of his own as the 'king'. It seemed, as one of the teachers would sigh to his mother, that being able to king was just about the only thing he knew about the game.

When Fuji was eight and a half, he had turned on the television in his parents' room out of boredom and flipped through the channels aimlessly. He stopped on one, watching the men get into position interestedly. After a few moments, one of them swung his arm and it began. As he watched and listened, his eyes widened, his jaw dropped slightly, and small tears began to inadvertently roll down his round cheeks. His mother entered the room a few minutes later, sat down on the bed next to him, and began to watch as well, patting his back soothingly.

When it was over, she turned to him and smiled; asked him how much he enjoyed it.

He couldn't answer.

She smiled and ruffled his hair slightly before walking off to make a phone call to an instructor in the area. They spoke on the phone for quite a long time and then she came back and hugged him, telling him that as soon as she had heard what he was watching, she knew what he was going to want to begin.

At the age of nine, Fuji Syuusuke was declared a genius.

---

"Sorry I'm late," he called, rushing in to take his place in the circle of chairs, right at the front. "Bus arrived behind schedule," he gave as the excuse, although he had actually walked to the building, opting not to take the already crowded bus. He sat down before lifting the apparatus next to him and its companion. "Does it need—?"

"Ana was kind enough to while we waited," the woman next to him replied testily. "You're lucky our guest is also late, or you would have been in deep trouble. Shall we all warm up now that Fuji is here?" There were collective murmurs of agreement from around the others, and the woman raised her arms. "Then let's start as always."

Taking a deep breath, Fuji ran a hand almost lovingly over the glossy wood of his cello and began to play the short etude.

They stopped a few minutes later when the conductor motioned for them to cut off. She turned toward the door at the far end of the concert hall, at the very back where the seats on the highest floor led into the lobby. As if on cue, it opened and in stepped a tall figure—male, from what Fuji could tell—and stepped down the stairs regally. As he neared, a few girls began to squeal loudly. He caught a few snatches of what was actually low-pitched enough for the human ear to take in, but could make no sense of anything but the words, "Oh my gosh!"

"Quiet, all of you!" The conductor shushed them as best as she could before introducing the young man now standing behind her. "This is Tezuka Kunimitsu, a violinist and conductor. I'll be in Prague until after the big Christmas concert, so he'll be our honored guest and conductor. So be nice to him, listen when he speaks, and pay close attention to what he says. Alright?" There was a chorus of agreement from everyone, who seemed now attentive and alert now that there was a highly esteemed musician present.

Fuji looked at the man interestedly. Sharp features, dark brown hair that was neatly styled so that it was casual but would suit any type of clothing, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose. Tezuka was good-looking; even Fuji admitted it. The steely brown eyes were directed at him, though his face was towards the orchestra. Fuji chuckled and wiggled his fingers at the violinist in a sort of wave.

"This is the seating chart, Tezuka. Feel free to move people around as you wish during your stay here. And although he isn't listed here, this," the conductor gestured towards the honey-brunet, "is Fuji Syuusuke, our guest musician. We're doing a cello concerto, since we were lucky to nab him before the others got to him."

"Yes, Maestra," Tezuka bowed, taking the sheaf of papers and scores.

"Now, just sit down and listen. Get to feel how they play and where it needs to be changed," the conductor gestured to one of the cushioned chairs in the front row. Tezuka nodded, stepping down the stairs and settling into one of the chairs quickly. One chair, Fuji noticed, that had a perfect view of the entire stage. However, as they began playing Haydn's cello concerto, he realized that the pair of eyes was trained solely on him. They made their way through the first half or so of the first movement before the conductor looked at her watch and clicked her tongue, annoyed. She cut them off with a wave of her hand. "Alright, the choir needs the stage in ten minutes, so let's call it a day for now. Remember to practice."

There was the clatter of rustling papers, murmuring from the orchestra, and the sound of cases being snapped shut as the ensemble packed their things and instruments. As Fuji carefully set the cello into its case, he felt the gaze of the other guest on him again. Snapping the clasps down, he smiled at Tezuka before handing the case to one of the students rolling some of the bigger instruments back to the orchestra room. Hopping down onto the carpet without even bothering with the stairs, he tapped Tezuka on the shoulder to get the other to turn around.

"Hey."

"Yes?" The violinist finished gathering his papers and turned to face the cellist. "May I help you?"

Fuji gestured to the door with a tilt of his head. "Want to get a coffee at the café down the street? We can discuss the piece or something. I'll pay, if that helps any."

Tezuka nodded, placing his things in a folder before following Fuji into the lobby and out the door.

They walked to the café side-by-side, neither speaking to the other. When Fuji opened the glass door of the coffeehouse, the door jingled and the only young woman manning the counter looked up from the espresso machine to call out a greeting.

"Welcome to Caffè Musicale!" She smiled at both of them and went back to making the cappuccino for the teenage girl with long braids waiting patiently at the counter. Fuji beckoned Tezuka to follow him to the counter. The barista handed the frothy drink to the girl and held up a finger to the two musicians as she got the woman's change. When the teen walked back to a table occupied by another girl, the barista smiled at them. "Hello, what can I get you?"

"The house special please," Fuji's answer was immediate. "Hazelnut and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper."

"Alright, and you sir?" She looked at Tezuka and gestured to the chalkboard behind her. "We have a large selection of coffees, a few hot shakes, and Italian sodas. Hot shakes are sort of a milkshake, but not made with ice cream, since it'd melt if I heated it. Instead, it has fruit and condensed milk in it to thicken, and is kind of like a soup, because you eat it with a spoon. Maybe I should start calling it fruit soup instead. That probably makes more sense..." She trailed off, thinking. She snapped back a second later, apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry about that. So what can I get you?"

"Black, Columbian blend if you have it," Tezuka replied.

"We have it. Have a seat and I'll bring your drinks to you," the barista gestured to one of the tables near the window and pulled out two cups, both hand-painted. "That'll be 740-yen please." Fuji deposited a few coins into her hand and she dropped them into the cash register. "Thank you, and your drinks will only take a few minutes."

Fuji and Tezuka sat down at the table, chairs scraping against the tiled floor slightly as they settled down. Fuji looked around the café at the others at booths and tables, chatting with their companions. There were a few alone, like the short-haired teenager listening to music and sipping at her latte while sketching, and the boy wearing a white baseball cap, one that frequented the café, that was scribbling furiously at a paper, pausing to take a long draught of his purple soda before writing again.

When he turned his gaze back to Tezuka, the violinist was looking intently at the barista occupied with making their drinks.

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

"Her hands are," Tezuka answered, not taking his eyes off the young woman that was currently pouring the cup of black coffee that Tezuka had ordered.

"So you have a hand fetish? That's interesting; never met anyone who has a hand fetish before," Fuji turned slightly to look as well. "But her hands are very delicate, aren't they?"

"She's played a string instrument before," Tezuka remarked, turning his head to look at the painting above Fuji's head instead.

Fuji was curious. "And how can you tell?"

"She's not played in a long time, but when she was younger, she was very good at it," Tezuka responded after a moment's hesitation. "The way her left fingers move indicates that she can control them very well, and that comes from playing a violin or viola for a long time. Possibly the cello."

Fuji chuckled; Tezuka wasn't at all attracted to the woman. "Why not the string bass or the piano?"

"Her height." He was intently studying her again as she dusted cayenne pepper over Fuji's coffee. "She would have been too short to play it properly. As for the piano, both hands would be moving similarly, but her left fingers are far quicker."

Just then, the barista walked over with their drinks. "Here you go! One black Columbian coffee and a hazelnut house special with cayenne pepper on the top," she placed the drinks on the table cheerily. "Hope you didn't wait too long."

"Kaya-san, Tezuka-san here thinks that you once played a string instrument. Is he correct?"

"Why," Kaya flushed lightly, giggling softly. "I played the violin when I was in elementary school and continued until the end of high school. It was a lot of fun, but I broke my left hand and couldn't hold the violin properly anymore. But you're correct." She flashed them another smile before hurrying back to the counter as another customer entered the café, sending a cold gust of wind into the room.

"I'm impressed, Tezuka-san, that you could tell just by the way she made coffee," Fuji took a sip of his hot coffee and sighed with pleasure at the taste of cayenne and hazelnuts. He leaned back in his chair and looked out the large window they sat next to.

They discussed the piece of music the orchestra was playing, as well as a few pieces written in the Baroque era. They soon went from the cello to the violin, then to Mozart and Beethoven, followed by the music of Schubert. Fuji finally strayed back to the musical ensemble Tezuka was to be conducting when Haydn was mentioned.

"So what did you think of the orchestra? They're some of the best, aren't they?"

"They are, but there was one person that I thought was lacking."

Fuji turned his eyes back on Tezuka's serious face. "What do they play?"

"A cellist," was the reply.

"And who might it be?" Fuji's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You."

---

It was a dangerous thing to provoke Fuji Syuusuke—even more so when he had a cup of hot coffee in front of him. He wrapped his slim fingers firmly around the handle and resisted the urge to dump it over Tezuka's head. A few moments ago, they had been having a peaceful conversation. Releasing the cup with some difficulty, he smiled as pleasantly as he could.

"How so?" He folded his hands so he wouldn't do anything stupid. "My playing has been labeled as perfect by judges all over the world. I fail to see how it is lacking."

"Your cello is missing something essential that is often overlooked," Tezuka calmly sipped his coffee, as if they had continued their conversation from earlier; as if he hadn't said anything to provoke Fuji.

"Pray tell, what is it?" Fuji's hands had tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning white. "If I don't know what it is, then I can't fix it, now can I?"

"It's something you have to discover on your own," Tezuka's reply was unruffled, adding fuel to the fire of Fuji's anger.

The cellist stood suddenly, making his coffee splash onto the table. "Good day, Tezuka-san. I'll see you at practice tomorrow." Nodding a farewell to the barista, he opened the door, hearing the friendly jingle that now sounded irritating and mocking. The wind had grown stronger during the half hour they had sat in the café, and Tezuka watched as the cold gust of air blew the baseball-cap-boy's papers to the ground, covered in handwritten music notes.

---

Practice with the orchestra was normal. Tezuka was an amazing conductor, and even Fuji had to acknowledge it. He knew where they needed to become a tiny bit softer, louder, or more staccato; legato, where not to breathe, and he even picked out the tiniest places where people were overlapping for less than a millisecond. Even the girls who never looked up at the conductor would glance up every measure, although Fuji presumed that was because Tezuka was good looking. He never slowed even the slightest or picked up speed unconsciously. His conducting was perfect.

Just as Fuji thought of his cello.

The days of orchestra practice passed by, melting into weeks of seemingly endless playing and tuning. Fuji swore one day that his cell phone's ring tone was beginning to sound like the cello concerto, even if it was Beethoven's Unfinished Symphony. Tezuka was still conducting as perfectly as always. Fuji resented that a bit, although with his help, the brass was no longer blaringly obvious in the forte sections; the flutes no longer sounded so windy. Now the music they made was clear and without the fog of a missed breath here or there. The clarinets did not squeak, the trombones no longer sounded weak, and even the violins were improving to beyond what was the requirement to join the top band here. The string section had been the highlight of Tokyo's best young adult orchestra, and it now seemed that the skill of each section was equal.

Fuji hated Tezuka even more for flawlessly helping the orchestra and never making a mistake.

And yet he knew that it was thanks to this violinist that the Tokyo YA Orchestra was going to give its best performance on Christmas Eve, watched by music critics and college scouts from around the world. There would be people recruited to study under some famous musician or another, and they would happily accept and fly off to Prague or Vienna and play their instruments until their bloody little fingers fell off, he thought bitterly. All thanks to Tezuka.

In a small café not far from the concert hall—not the Caffè Musical (he'd lost the will to go there to enjoy coffee, even if it was the best coffee that had ever passed his lips)—during lunch break two weeks prior to the performance, he regretted ordering the soup when the English letters floated to the top and seemingly formed a message.

_He rait yu no._

Fuji frowned and stirred the soup, clearing the letters. Tezuka was most certainly not correct about his cello. Why was Tezuka even the first to come to mind when he read that anyway? He lifted a spoonful of thin broth and mushy pasta letters to his mouth and sipped at it, making a face at the saltiness. Probably canned, not fresh, as the menu advertised. It wasn't even chicken soup to begin with.

More letters surfaced and Fuji scowled as he read the next few words.

_Sank tezka fo conduktin._

He swirled the alphabet soup around the bowl before setting down his spoon. He'd lost his appetite—not because of the messages, he told himself. The soup here was terrible, and he wasn't coming back. The coffee here wasn't decent enough for a dog to drink anyway. As explanation for the messages, hearing Haydn's cello concerto too many times obviously wasn't good for the mind.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he walked down the street against the wind that now seemed so unbearably cold.

He wished he could believe it himself.

When he sat down again in his spot at the front of the orchestra, he glanced quickly at Tezuka, who was flipping through the score and making marks on where things needed to be fixed more. Did the man ever give it a rest?

By the time Fuji had finished re-tuning his cello, everyone was settled down in their chairs and Tezuka was in place on the podium and next to Fuji. With two taps of the baton against the stand, the entire orchestra was silent and ready to play. When they started playing, Fuji listened intently to everyone else, letting his fingers play the notes he had long ago memorized (he had once woken up with his left hand tapping against the sheets as if he were playing).

It was surprisingly almost flawless. One of the younger flutists was still blowing too hard, and one of the oboists clearly had a cold, but those were the biggest mistakes they made. In two weeks, Fuji expected it to be beyond what Haydn might have imagined it to be. Tezuka had them play the piece over and over again until past six. When he dismissed them, Fuji felt Tezuka's gaze on him for a moment as he walked up the stairs and out of the concert hall to the lobby. There were a few choir girls early for practice, and he nodded to them as he passed by, ignoring the giggles as the cold air hit him.

It was dark out already, with a few stars dusted across the sky, although the smog that always seemed to drape over Tokyo blocked many of them out. His breath came out in puffs of pale steam as he exhaled and tried to hail a taxi. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and Fuji's instincts kicked in. He jerked an elbow back and caught the other in the ribs. He stumbled back with the person holding onto his shoulder but managed to stay upright.

"Listen, I have about 3000-yen on me, so just take it and leave."

"Fuji-san, it's me," the man replied, voice deep and infuriating to Fuji's ears as always. "I'll help you hail a cab."

"No thank you, I can do it myself," Fuji held a hand up as another taxi went by and didn't stop for him.

There was a shrill whistle from behind the cellist as another approached and this time, it drove up to the curb and stopped. Tezuka was holding his thumb and index finger to his mouth and the whistle had signaled the taxi to halt.

"Something you learn trying to go around New York City," Tezuka explained, opening the door for Fuji.

The honey-brunet rolled his eyes as he slid into the backseat and sighed, begrudgingly speaking to Tezuka. "Would you like to come to my apartment for coffee or wine or something? As... thanks."

"Very well," Fuji clenched his eyes closed as Tezuka replied with what he'd not wanted to hear and sat down in the cab next to him. Fuji told the driver his apartment's address and sighed almost inaudibly. The entire way to Fuji's apartment, the two were silent and didn't so much as utter a word until Fuji handed the cab driver the three 1000-yen bills, telling him to keep the change. Tezuka, forever the gentleman, got out first and held the door open for Fuji. They both watched as the taxi pulled away from the curb before Fuji spoke, breaking the silence between them.

"It's cold out here," he said, for lack of a better thing to say.

"It's December."

"I meant, 'so shall we go inside before one of us catches cold?'" Fuji almost rolled his eyes again and walked to the building with Tezuka not far behind. The doorman nodded when Fuji told him Tezuka was his guest and held the door open for both men. The lobby of this apartment building was well furnished and lavish, promising large apartments and very expensive rent. Fuji lived on the top floor, and they rode the glass elevator in silence as well.

Fuji's apartment was large and cozy with a fireplace and soft couches. There was only one pair of slippers awaiting them, so Fuji offered them to Tezuka and opted to walk in his feet with nothing but socks on them. They were clean anyway. Fuji left Tezuka sinking uncomfortably into one of the couches as he went into the kitchen to make coffee because he really didn't want to know how much alcohol Tezuka could hold or what kind of drunk the man was.

He opened his cabinets and cursed at the empty coffee bag.

"Tezuka-san," he said as politely as he could, emerging from the saloon-style doors leading to the kitchen. "I'm all out of coffee. Is wine alright with you?"

"Yes," Tezuka was attempting to look as dignified as possible while trying to sit up straight in the squashy sofa.

"Red or white?" Fuji now highly regretted not buying coffee that morning before leaving for practice.

"Red."

Fuji turned around and pushed one of the doors open. "I have a Merlot and an older Shiraz."

"Either is fine," Tezuka was still struggling with the sofa as Fuji disappeared into the other room. He returned with two wineglasses and a full bottle and sat next to the violinist, allowing himself to sink down into the divan. He set both glasses down and uncorked the bottle with ease. Pouring a glass for each of them, he glanced toward Tezuka uncomfortably. Their eyes met for a split second before Fuji darted his eyes back towards the wine flowing from the long neck of the bottle.

They sipped in silence together after Fuji handed Tezuka a wineglass.

Finally, Fuji made an effort to begin a conversation by asking Tezuka about the orchestra. Tezuka said that everyone had improved greatly, and from there they jumped from topic to topic, brushing over Mozart and the French horn and even spoke about embouchures and the proper way to hold a bassoon. Tezuka was definitely more well studied in instruments, though Fuji knew every aspect about the cello, and they spoke about everything musical that two people possibly could in the span of an hour.

"More wine, Tezuka-san?" Fuji was now enjoying Tezuka's presence more so than earlier, perhaps because Tezuka had not brought up that Fuji was lacking. Tezuka nodded once and held out his glass. Fuji leaned over and poured, but something seemed to push him further than he calculated and the red liquid splashed onto Tezuka's clean white dress shirt. It was not more than a few drops, but Fuji immediately set the bottle down and grabbed a napkin from the table.

Dabbing furiously at the stain, he apologized profusely. "I'm so sorry Tezuka-san. I'll pay the costs of dry-cleaning if it doesn't come out, I mean—" Fuji rubbed at it again. "How much was this shirt?" He looked up fearfully. He knew from previous experience that ordinary dress shirts could often cost a fortune, especially if they were sold in the same store as popular fashion labels.

Tezuka did not look angry at all. His eyes were cloudy and a little bit hazy from the effects of the alcohol. "It's fine," he answered. Somehow, his voice seemed a bit hoarser and deeper from Fuji's close proximity. "It was on sale."

"Still, I'll pay for cleaning costs," Fuji attempted once again to let the napkin absorb the wine, though failing. He looked up again, searching Tezuka's eyes for the slightest hint of annoyance or irritation. Finding none, he breathed a soft sigh of relief and paused at the hand on his shoulder.

Later, they both blamed the alcohol for what happened next.

Fuji was leaning up and Tezuka was bending his head down and suddenly their lips were meeting somewhere in the middle. It began soft, just a light brushing of lips, but Fuji pressed up insistently. Tezuka's lips were slightly chapped, he noted, as his hands—one soft and one with calloused fingers—slipped around Tezuka's shoulders and pulled the violinist closer. Tezuka's hands were on his waist, and his lips parted when Fuji's tongue darted out and just pressed against them once. Their tongues touched and Fuji angled his head slightly so that their noses weren't bumping together.

Tezuka finally broke for air first, just keeping their lips apart as both caught their breath, taking in air heavily. But then they were kissing again and Fuji had lost all train of thought.

"So," Fuji murmured when they parted for the second time, this time keeping their lips brushing together very lightly. Their breath mingled and Fuji thought it smelled like wine.

"Yes?" Fuji left the question hanging and pressed his mouth against Tezuka's hard. His lips were bruised and he was very glad that he didn't play a wind instrument. He pulled his head away slightly, letting his forehead rest against the violinist's. Tezuka's glasses had been pulled off sometime in the first break and now rested on the coffee table, next to their forgotten wineglasses.

"Have I found what I was lacking yet?" Tezuka opened his mouth to answer but Fuji cut him off again, greedily kissing the one he had disliked just an hour ago. Tezuka returned the kiss for a moment before coming to his senses and easing away from Fuji, keeping hands on the cellist's shoulders to ward him off for a moment.

"Yes," he said, and Fuji smiled, leaning in again. The firm hands kept him at bay and he nearly pouted. "In your kisses. However, it is still missing in your cello." Tezuka pushed him away completely and put his glasses back on. He stood, leaving Fuji sitting dumbfounded on the couch. "Thank you for the wine. Have a nice evening, and don't forget to eat dinner. I'll see you for orchestra practice tomorrow at ten." He left the slippers by the entrance as they had been before and took his coat and scarf from the coat rack. Putting both on, he nodded a goodbye to Fuji and left, closing the door behind him.

Fuji groaned and covered his eyes with one hand as he lay down on the couch. His lips hurt and they had bumped their teeth together like teenagers, so those did as well. He could still smell Tezuka's aftershave and feel the weight of lips on his, taking away his breath. He hated the man. Just hated him as much as his heart could muster.

Which, in the end, wasn't much now that he had kissed the man who infuriated him so.

"Are you happy now, God?"

There was the sound of childish giggling, and Fuji took that as a "yes", even if the laughter sounded mysteriously identical to the six-year-old twins who lived next door.

---

The next morning, he blearily sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of instant coffee that he had bought from the local convenience store at about 4 AM that morning. He inhaled the aroma from the coffee and looked at it as suspiciously as he could for someone so tired. It smelled all right, so maybe he wouldn't have to spend so much money on coffee from cafés any longer. Taking a sip, he let the hot liquid move though his mouth before gagging and spitting the coffee back into the cup. Ew.

Fuji stood and upended the cup in the sink, placing the mug down as well once the coffee had drained. He could always afford to do the dishes later, and if he left now, he could settle down in a café somewhere and enjoy a nice cup of freshly brewed coffee that didn't taste like complete and utter crap. As it was, it had been a few weeks since he'd had a decent cup of coffee.

So he put on his coat and his shoes, and paused with his hand on the doorknob for a few minutes, wondering why he hadn't had good coffee for so long. Ever since Tezuka had insulted his cello and told him that he was lacking, he recalled. Now thinking further back, ever since he had discovered the quiet little café, he would take a trip there at least twice a day—once in the morning before practice or for breakfast, and once after orchestra or just in a lazy afternoon—for a cup of the carefully made drink that was now almost an addiction. He dearly missed the Caffè Musical, and wanted so badly a cup of coffee made by the sweet barista.

Making his decision, he left the building, walked the fifteen-minute walk to the familiar café, and entered, the bell above the door giving the happy jingle that signaled that he was back again. As always, Kaya was wiping down the counter and that boy with the baseball cap was seated at the corner booth, carefully marking the sheets of lined paper.

"Fuji-san!" She looked surprised to see him, and gave a welcoming smile. "It's great to see you again; the last time you were here with that other man, you stormed out rather angrily. How long has it been, about three weeks? Are you alright?"

"Sorry if I made you worry," Fuji smiled back and leaned on the counter. "I've been rather busy with the concert approaching. I'm perfectly fine, just suffering from a slight cold lately." Which, of course, was a total lie, but she didn't need to know that. "So, what's been happening in here during my absence?"

"Well, that man you came with last time now visits every few days. Orders the same thing every time: Columbian, black. Just one cup every time, at the same table, and then he leaves without another word. A few days ago, a very tall man with glasses asked for my recipe for hot shakes, saying something about wanting to take them, add in nutrients, and dehydrate them, then use them was tablets that kids won't actually mind taking. After that, it got a little technical, and I got confused," she chuckled sheepishly, and Fuji felt a presence at his side.

"Hey," it was the boy with the baseball cap. "Can I get another soda, ma'am?"

"Yes, it'll just take a minute," Kaya turned and opened the small refrigerator behind her, taking out a glass bottle of purple liquid. She took a towel and placed it over the cap, twisting until there was a hissing sound and the cap came off. She handed him the bottle and deposited the cap in a garbage can under the counter. "How's the symphony coming?"

"It's a concerto," the boy muttered, walking back to the corner booth. She shrugged and turned back to Fuji.

"He's writing a concerto?" Fuji asked, mildly surprised. He looked no older than a teenager did, with his wide eyes and smirk that was worn often by the high school students that carried around lead pipes and didn't hesitate to beat up someone if they so much as looked at them the wrong way. "My, he must be quite a prodigy."

"I'm not sure," Kaya said with a wry smile. "It's been a while since I've been around the music industry, so I'm not sure what the age now for writing music is."

"How often is he in here?"

"Well, he comes in every day now, only leaving for lunch and for the day. Always gets a grape Italian soda; says it helps the music flow. I wish him luck," she sighed before looking up at Fuji again. "So what would you like, Fuji-san?"

"The usual," he said, and watched the barista carefully steam milk and brew coffee, adding in a shot of chocolate syrup and two drops of hazelnut extract after they were mixed in the ceramic mug—white with music notes, Fuji noted, finding it just a little bit coincidental. She carefully piped whipped cream onto the drink, gave it a sprinkle of red cayenne pepper from a small metal container, and set it in front of him. "Keep the change," he said, leaving a 1000-yen bill in her hand.

He walked to his usual table and paused before passing it and sitting at the one next to it.

---

There was little Fuji could do about seeing Tezuka, however, other than acting as if it had not happened. Of course, it was difficult when two girls—a clarinetist and a percussionist—giggled as they made their way to him. Once they were within a two-foot radius of him, one pushed the other forward, and then the other repeated the motion to her friend.

"I won't bite," he said as the clarinet player shoved her friend again. "Now, why don't both of you come here and talk to me?"

They blushed, and took about three steps closer. "Fuji-sama, is there anything going on between you and Tezuka-sama?"

"Well," Fuji thought about the conversation they'd had and the heated kisses they'd shared. He felt the weight of lips crushing his own again, stealing the air from his lungs. "No. Why do you ask?"

The percussionist gave another high-pitched giggle and added another sentence. "Well, Riri-chan and I saw you get into a taxi with him last night."

"There is nothing," he reassured them with a smile. "_Nothing_ going on between Tezuka-san and I. You two should probably get back to your seats, however, because we're going to begin soon." The two girls nodded and walked off giggling and talking behind their hands. _'Nothing that I'd tell you two about, anyway.'_

Tezuka walked to the conductor's stand, clapping his hands together to catch the orchestra's attention. The many musicians scurried to their seats immediately, sitting up in their chairs with their backs ramrod straight, ready as soon as the conductor's feet touched the podium.

"Concert master," he said calmly, picking up his baton. "B flat concert scale."

"Y-yes," the violinist stood, positioning his violin carefully. He drew the bow over the strings slowly, watching for any instructions from the conductor.

"Violins, tune yourselves accordingly."

---

A few weeks passed, and the Christmas concert went on without a hitch.

Critics raved, saying, _"...and a textbook performance from Fuji Syuusuke-san, while Tezuka Kunimitsu, the guest conductor, did very well in place of..."_

_"...Fuji Syuusuke-sama was the highlight of the Tokyo Youth Orchestra's concert on Christmas Eve. Nonetheless, Tezuka Kunimitsu-san, taking the place of Ryuuzaki Sumire-san shone brightly as the conductor..."_

_"Last night's Christmas concert was fantastic, as expected from genius Fuji Syuusuke-san as the featured musician..."_

Fuji couldn't leave his home without someone (mainly teenage girls) stopping him on the street and asking for an autograph as if he were a movie star or famous pop star. They squealed and giggled and posted rants online about how _"Syuusuke-sama touched my hand as he gave me an autograph!"_ or _"I know we're meant to be!"_ Even a few middle aged women would smile and congratulate him on a well done concerto, and then ask him calmly for a signature on the new CD they'd bought. As soon as they thought he was out of earshot, though, they acted like their daughters and jumped up and down excitedly.

Soon, though, the buzz died down and Fuji was left alone (for the most part).

A few weeks into January, he received a phone call from a music school, offering him a part time job as an advanced cello instructor with a few beginners on the side. He felt the urge to accept, and the next day received his schedule and first group of advanced students.

They were all in their teens, and quite good. The music they played was riddled with difficult runs and tricky beats, but they plowed through it like their fingers were a chainsaw and the music was a tree branch. A few of them, like the serious faced boy that always seemed to wear a black baseball cap and the pretty one with blue hair that looked amazingly frail, were nearly up to par with a professional cellist.

His beginners were not so skilled. They fumbled over the strings, unable to even hold the cello for the entire lesson, let alone play a scale the first few times. However, they all worked their hardest to keep the cello upright and hold the bow correctly. Soon, they were able to play a scale and short, simple songs.

Fuji busied himself with teaching until his phone rang again on a cold day in early March. A CEO was getting married, and wanted only the best of the best to play at his wedding reception. There would be a string quartet, and he wanted Fuji to be the cellist.

Naturally, Fuji said, and the deal was made. He was called to the CEO's office where he was informed there would be two arranged meetings for the quartet before the wedding in June, and then handed scores and turned back out onto the streets.

He practiced and practiced when he had time, learning the pieces quickly.

Soon, April approached, and he recieved a new beginner: a bouncy, 10 year-old redhead that seemed extremely eager to learn how to play the cello.

---

"Eiji-kun, play me a D," Fuji said.

The boy nodded and positioned his fingers carefully before drawing the bow over the strings.

The sound he made screeched and scratched at Fuji's eardrums before Eiji stopped and looked up expectantly. Fuji nodded, quickly plastering a fake smile of encouragement onto his face.

"Now, tell me how we keep the cello from screeching."

---

The first meeting day came, and Fuji found himself looking at one all too familiar face when he entered the room.

"Hello, Tezuka-san," he said as cheerfully as he possibly could, and sat down at the table next to a nervous looking young woman. "And Ryuuzaki Sakuno-san, right?"

She was a pretty girl with red hair the color of rubies, but was looking down and staring at her hands. She figeted often, looking up quickly before back down into her lap again. "H-hello, Fuji-san."

They three of them sat in uncomfortable silence until the door burst open and a harried looking young man rushed in. He dressed very casually in a sports jacket and jeans, and his short hair was spiked.

"Sorry, sorry!" He plopped down into the last chair, cheeks red and panting. "Am I really late?"

"No," Tezuke pointed at the clock. "You're on time."

"Oh," he grinned sheepishly at making a fuss. "Sorry anyway."

"Sh-shall we begin then?" Sakuno asked timidly.

"Yeah! Introductions would be good, right? I'm Momoshiro Takeshi," the man pointed at himself with a thumb. "Viola."

"I'm Ryuuzaki Sakuno, and I play the violin," Sakuno mumbled. "Pleased to meet you all."

"Fuji Syuusuke, cellist. Let's put on a good show."

"Tezuka Kunimitsu, violin."

"Fuji Syuusuke?" Momoshiro blinked. "You're the Fuji Syuusuke?"

"Well," Fuji shrugged, "I don't think I've met any others."

"My girlfriend loves you!" The viola player exclaimed holding out a marker and a piece of paper. "Your autograph would make an awesome birthday present for her!"

Fuji looked at the proffered paper and then back at Momoshiro. "Aa, sure..." He took the two things and quickly wrote his name, then handed it back.

"Awesome! Now I don't have to worry if she doesn't like the necklace I got her!"

"Momoshiro-kun," Tezuka fixed his stare on the other man. "We came here to play music, didn't we?"

"Oh, right," Momoshiro seemed to shrink under Tezuka's glare and held up his viola. "Shall we begin then?"

As they four of them played, they were able to synch up and take silent cues from each other without much effort. The CEO had chosen well in the musicians he wanted at his wedding.

The next meeting was the same, with the four of them playing and playing and playing, until the time was up.

Fuji tried to avoid looking at Tezuka.

---

"Play me a C."

The note was terrible, and Fuji wanted nothing more than to stuff his fingers in his ears until the lesson was over. The thin string of patience he had left for the student was being pulled tighter as the month wore on, and was about to break.

"Fuji-sensei, am I getting any better?" Eiji pulled the bow away from the strings and looked down.

"Of course. Play me an E."

The note seemed to bang on Fuji's head with a hammer.

The string's tension tightened.

"Now a G."

The cello screamed in the soundproof room.

The string stretched harder.

"An A?"

Fuji's head felt like it was going to explode with the note.

The thread snapped.

"Are you sure?" Eiji frowned. "I don't think I've improved very much, have I?"

"To put it lightly, Eiji-kun," Fuji said irritably, "no."

Eiji's head snapped up to look at the teacher.

"You've been coming here for nearly a month and you can't play a note without screeching and scratching. My other beginners have already begun short pieces, yet you're still on the basics. You haven't any talent for the cello, so why bother playing on? You're only going to quit in the end, because you can't advance if you can't play a single note correctly!"

His words hung in the air for a long time, and the room was silent.

"Because I love it," Eiji finally spoke after what seemed like eternity.

"You what?"

"I love playing the cello. When my fingers touch the strings, and my hand draws the bow over the cello's strings, it feels like something magical happens. I remember why I wanted to in the first place. I watched that Christmas concert you put on, and was in love with the cello from the very first note you played. I wanted to someday be able to do that too, to play on a stage with everyone watching and love what I did."

"Eiji-kun..."

"Fuji-sensei, you started the cello when you were eight, right? And look now: one of the most famous cellists in the world, right up there with Yo-Yo Ma. But how could you have done it without playing and practicing until your fingers were sore? One wrong note and it wasn't worth it anymore? When you started, didn't you love it too? Weren't you passionate about it?"

Passion.

That was what Tezuka had told him he was missing. _Passion_, of all things.

For a moment, he went back to the time he first began playing the cello, after watching that magical cello concerto. He'd loved it, every second of it, and every note he made seemed like magic to his ears. He would practice until his mother scolded him and made him go to bed, and wake up the next day with sore arms and fingers, but would wrap the appendages in bandages and continue to play.

"Fuji-sensei?"

And he was brought back to the private practice room, with two cellos, two stands, and a young boy staring down at the floor.

"Yes, Eiji-kun. Now, play me a C."

Eiji seemed encouraged, and played the note as loudly as he could.

The C was loud, discordant, and far from perfect. It screeched and scratched and was off-key, but to Fuji, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

At the end of the lesson, Eiji packed up his cello and began to leave, stopping at the door to look back at his teacher.

"See you next week?" It was more of a question than a goodbye, and Fuji nodded.

"2:00 as always. Don't be late."

And Eiji smiled, wheeled his cello out the door, and called out a happy "Bye, Fuji-sensei!"

---

The wedding reception took place in a garden, filled with beautiful flowers and a fountain. It was warm, partly cloudy, and there was a slight breeze that made the ribbons attached to the bushes and tents flutter like butterflies in the wind.

They set up near the front, and tuned while they waited for guests to begin arriving.

As the people slowly trickled in, they began to play the first piece at the secretary's signal.

The groom arrived with his beautiful, blushing bride that had the air of someone who would break easily, and they were soon the center of attention.

Fuji listened to the chatter of the guests, the CEO's smooth voice, and the bride's annoying, high-pitched giggles. His fingers moved of their own accord, having memorized the notes and rhythms already.

His mind drifted, and his thoughts meandered aimlessly until he remembered the last lesson with Eiji.

"Weren't you passionate about it?"

Slowly, he began to play with his eyes closed, actually listening to the sounds his cello made, and noticing for the first time in a while the quirks he had while playing. His fingers would jump instead of slide on a specific note, the A he just played was slightly off, but sounded beautiful all the same, and the way he sometimes turned the bow while playing C's.

He felt like a _human_ playing the cello instead of a well-oiled machine.

His fingers stopped for a second as he smiled and felt grateful toward the young boy.

Hastily, he began again, grateful that it had been a violin part and he was only the background rhythm.

His eyes scanned over the crowd, landing on the CEO. His eyes were narrowed, and he had clearly caught the mistake. However, he resumed speaking to the older man next to him after shooting Fuji an angry glare.

As they finished the first piece, the secretary handed them each a bottle of water and gestured towards Fuji.

"Atobe-sama wants to see you, Fuji-san."

He followed the woman to the groom, who was standing behind one of the larger tents.

"What were you doing out there?" Atobe sniffed. "You missed that note."

"My mind wandered for a moment, Atobe-san," Fuji bowed apologetically. "It won't happen again."

"It'd better not, or your music career is over." he replied, pointing to the rest of the players. "Go back, and make sure you keep focused."

"Yes, sir," Fuji kept his head bowed until Atobe had returned to his bride, plastering on a loving expression for show. However, he threw another glare at Fuji when he had the chance.

Fuji made his way back to the rest of the quartet, where Sakuno and Momoshiro looked at him with sympathy.

"Did Atobe-san scold you for missing that C?" Momoshiro asked immediately.

"Momoshiro-san," Sakuno tried to hush the viola player, but Fuji chuckled and waved it off.

"Of course."

"Don't mind it. We all make mistakes, Fuji-san, right?"

Fuji flashed a smile at the red haired woman, and she blushed, playing with the hem of her dress. "Thank you, Ryuuzaki-san." He looked over at Tezuka, who had not yet said anything. "So, Tezuka-san? Are you going to scold me as well?"

"Places!" Atobe's secretary called to them, and they picked up their instruments. "Play Crosswinds!"

As they positioned their bows and Tezuka tapped his foot to set the beat, Fuji watched as his lips moved, forming four simple words.

"No, you played perfectly."

And the music began.

There were cool breezes, colorful flowers, and snow-capped mountains woven into the piece. It had been inspired by something beautiful, and turned into something of the same caliber. Fuji closed his eyes again, listening to the others' parts intertwine with his.

Somehow, music sounded better than it had before.

---

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